Check, uhIt's like I'm in my own fuckin' world, I speak how I feelSometimes I feel like I'm just too fuckin' realI love to stack riches, no disrespect y'allI respect the rap game, but I don't fuck with rap bitchesI'm speakin' from my heartIt's not that I'm too good, I'm just hoodBeen like this from the fuckin' startSince I bust my gun in ninety-sixY'all never see me flick up with them fake-ass chicksBitches smile up in your face, turn around and pop shitYou a industry bitch, I'm a in the streets bitchI might breeze through Prada, Chloe or TiffsBut, other than that it's just me and my six

Repeat 1

I dream filthyMy moms and pops mixed it with the Trini' rum and whiskeyUh, proper set offSix sped off, gats let off, I speak calmGangsta, and pours off like Screechie Don, bwoyWho y'all know rock Prada like FoxPop bottles in the back of the cellar with DonatellaCartier wrist wear, Pasha Kay faceGot niggaz stand in line just to get a sneak tasteAct like y'all don't know I keeps gat beneath waistAnd like a hundred thou' each crib in each safeWhen Fox come through she a go done de placeI'm like Marion Jones, what, who the FLUCK wan' race?Listen, never trippin', never catch Brown slippinFuck, y'all only nice around mics like PippenShit, to all my thugs that's Blood'n or Crip'nI'm still shittin, still lowridin and switch-hittin nigga